


untainted olive oil (one day's worth)

by mahadevi



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: But It's Soft D/S, Clint Barton's Fault As Usual, Complete List Of Potential Triggers in the notes, Crying During Sex, Explicit Consent, F/M, Gen, HYDRA sucks, Healing Sex, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past non-consensual body modification, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostate Massage, Sexual Dysfunction, Sub Bucky Barnes, Surprising Amount Of Dumb Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahadevi/pseuds/mahadevi
Summary: Clint tips his head back. “Hey Barnes!”“Can’t.” Comes the reply. It’s clipped and curt and has Scott tensing immediately.Clint blinks. “Can’t what.”“Can’t have sex.” He replies bluntly, shoulders tight and voice tighter. He hasn’t turned away from the counter. Scott can’t see his face. “Last time I did was in a tiny town in the middle of Fuckin’ Nowhere France, it was shit and I didn’t even finish, and then HYDRA grabbed me and chemically neutered me. So, Barton, to answer your incredibly important question, I have not had sex in the recent past and I will not be having sex anytime soon."There’s a long beat of silence that follows. “Um.” Clint eventually says. “I was actually going to just ask if you could bring me a cup of coffee.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Scott Lang, James "Bucky" Barnes & Scott Lang & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Scott Lang/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Scott Lang & Steve Rogers, Scott Lang/Hope Van Dyne
Comments: 11
Kudos: 105





	untainted olive oil (one day's worth)

**Author's Note:**

> Check the end notes/crtl+F the words "general fic synopsis" to get an overall summary of the events of the fic. potential triggers below:
> 
> POTENTIAL TRIGGERS:  
> Candid and clumsy discussions about past abusive relationships and child sexual assault (non-graphic, brief, and vague in details), discussions about PTSD based erectile dysfunction and chemical based erectile dysfunction/non-consensual body modification.
> 
> [[Please let me know if anything else should be added to this list!!]]

It’s a rare, peaceful morning in Wakanda. Not that Wakanda sucks or anything, no, Scott’s having a great time here all things considered. The palace staff are lovely and King T’Challa is a riot and the sunsets are to die for. The location itself is great, but between Barnes coming in and out of cryo in varying states of awareness, Wanda slipping into quiet states of depression, the looming reality that they’re international criminals, and the general personality clash between the lot of them, there’s not many quiet mornings. 

Today is pretty nice — Scott has a new batch of letters from home and he gets to read them over a nice strong cup of coffee, letting Wanda peer over his shoulder whenever she likes. Scott had gotten a rare smile out of her when he mentioned that she was Cassie’s favourite hero, which he promptly relayed to his daughter, who was delighted, of course. Wanda gets a letter this time around, and her eyes light up with a brightness they haven’t held in days. Scott’s not the only one to notice. It sends a ripple of quiet joy from everyone present; Sam bent over a bowl of cereal and Steve sketching away at the table and Barnes sitting on the counter. Scott grins up at them, they don’t exactly share his level of excitement but there’s a depth to their smiles, even Barnes’, and the sun filtering through the blinds paints the scene gold. 

Clint immediately ruins all of this, of course, by barging into the room and announcing at the top of his lungs, “Guys, I’m sexually deprived.”

In the loud chorus of groans, Scott gently puts the letters back on the table. It feels… wrong, to be holding them for whatever conversation is bound to unfold. He doesn’t want to taint them. “Really dude?” He sighs, looking mournfully at the pile of paper. He didn’t even get to finish reading about Cassie’s soccer game, which he’s been slowly learning about for three weeks now. Cassie has discovered what a cliffhanger is, and Scott kind of hates it. “It’s like, not even ten.”

“Is ten am now the official dick time?” Clint fires back and wow, he’s in a _mood_ today. “Am I not allowed to talk about dick before ten? What’re you gonna do, arrest me? You a cop?”

“Jesus, Barton.” Sam’s laughing, more shocked than actually amused. “What bit your dick this morning?”

“Nothing.” Clint moans, crumpling into a chair and folding himself over the table. “Nothing, Sam and _that’s the problem.”_

Scott shoots a nervous glance at Wanda, who laughs at whatever expression he’s making. “I had a brother.” She assures him, a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m well versed in this.”

There’s a little sad shadow in her eyes as she says it, and the others around the table go quiet in a real guilty sort of way. This puts Scott in the position of lightening the mood by bringing the conversation back to Clint’s sex life and he’s going to put _so many ants_ in the asshole’s bed tonight.

“I don’t think anything can prep you fro Clint Barton’s horniness.” He says. Sam outright guffaws over Clint’s spluttered protests.

“You barely even know me!”

“I know enough to be afraid.” Scott shoots back firmly, and even Steve’s laughing. “But sure, go ahead, tell us about your penis.”

“I wish I could.” Clint settles into his chair with a pout, like he’s literal toddler and not a highly trained SHIELD agent who can kill a man with his ring finger. “But it hasn’t gotten any epic stories for me to regale.”

“Wakanda has porn.” Wanda replies pointedly. Scott makes a very strangled and distressed noise, immediately imagining the horrific reality where his other daughter says those words to his ears. Sam looks near tears, and even Steve’s fighting back a smile as Wanda waves her hands and says “have at it.”

Clint narrows his eyes at her. “Wretched little child.” He says. She sticks her tongue back at him. “I don’t need porn, I need the warmth of another body, not that you would know how it feels. And you shouldn’t know either, you’re like twelve.”

There’s a very long silence as Wanda’s face slowly goes pink. Clint’s jaw drops. “You’re shitting me.”

Steve gets this look of dawning understanding, slowly saying with an edge of admiration and realization, “I was wondering why you kept going down to medical.”

“With the lip ring?” Barnes asks, voice hoarse but with a surprising amount of curiosity, all of it genuine. “And the burn scar on her neck?”

“Yup.” Scott says proudly, clapping Wanda on the back. He grins at her. “Told you she was flirting.” Wanda squeaks. Sam has stopped laughing audibly and has reached the stage of shaking and gasping for breath.

“Oh so the fuckin’ toddler with the magic touch can get laid—“

“We didn’t go that far!” Wanda finally erupts, everything on the table rattling with red energy as she shouts. Her ears are as red as her magic. “We just. Made out a bit. More than a bit. Ugh, shut _up_ Sam!”

“What about Vision, c’mon Wanda, his heart is metal but that just means it’s easier to break—“

“We have an agreement.” She snaps, and that’s what makes Steve put his pencil down on the table and slowly crumble into laughter, and it’s impossible not to join in. “Either way, this just proves I’m better than you! I kissed a girl _and_ I taught a robot how to love!”

Clint scowls, makes the decision that he can’t win against Wanda, and directs his rage elsewhere. “Okay, well, the rest of you schmucks don’t need to join in. Where’s the action you’re getting, huh?”

Sam has literal tears streaming down his face. “Listen man I’m having as bad of a dry spell as you are but you don’t hear me complaining about it.” He chokes out, wiping his eyes. “Besides, Wanda’s got the right idea. Make friends with the locals, lord knows they’re welcoming.”

“You've been fucking my psychiatrist you filthy liar.” Barnes says flatly, which makes Scott choke on his coffee and sends Sam into another set of hysterics.

“Fuck yeah I have been!” He wheezes. “Aw man, Barton, I’m sorry, that was mean.”

Steve coughs into his fist, trying and failing to smother his smile. “If it makes you feel better, I am on a seventy year dry spell at this point.” He says, placatingly. Barnes silently slips off the counter and turns to face the coffee pot. Clint settles back into his chair.

“That does make me feel better.” He admits. Sam takes a very purposeful inhale and mostly succeeds at a calm exhale. Clint tilts his head at Scott. “And we all know about Bug Boy’s lady back home.”

Scott flushes but grins proudly. “Hell yeah you do.” He says, because when he’s not talking about Cassie then he’s talking about Hope and they all hate him for it and he does not care. It does lead to some problems, like him forgetting his brain to mouth filter entirely and saying “she can put her legs behind her head and she’s the best person in the world.”

“I can also put my legs behind my head.” Clint does this thing with his eyebrows and thankfully Wanda’s flicking her wrist and knocking him out of his chair before Scott even gets his first retch out. “Alright damn, you kiss one girl and you become like this sapphic goddess of death.”

Wanda pauses. “Y’know, I like that a lot more than Scarlett Witch.”

“You would.” Clint says fondly. He tips his head back. “Hey Barnes!”

“Can’t.” Comes the reply. It’s clipped and curt and has Scott tensing immediately. 

Clint blinks. “Can’t what.”

“Can’t have sex.” He replies bluntly, shoulders tight and voice tighter. He hasn’t turned away from the counter. Scott can’t see his face. “Last time I did was in a tiny town in the middle of Fuckin’ Nowhere France, it was shit and I didn’t even finish, and then HYDRA grabbed me and chemically neutered me. So, Barton, to answer your incredibly important question, I have not had sex in the recent past and I will not be having sex anytime soon."

There’s a long beat of silence that follows. “Um.” Clint eventually says. “I was actually going to just ask if you could bring me a cup of coffee.”

Barnes freezes in place for a moment, before silently bringing the entire pot over and placing it in front of Clint. He collapses into one of the chairs, crossing his one arm over his body, looking downright miserable. The entire room feels like it's collapsed in on itself. Steve looks practically heartbroken.

“Fuck HYDRA.” Wanda says quietly. Barnes manages a weak smile in solidarity.

“Yeah.” He sounds raw. There’s a moment, like it’s just going to be left at that, before Barnes sits up, fury suddenly burning in the back of his eyes. “Fuck them. They put metal in my brain and shoddy half-assed serum in my body and took all my god damn memories and then decided to also take my dick away from me too!”

Scott’s jaw drops. “They took it _away?”_ Sam splutters. “Barnes, Jesus—“

“No they didn’t, Christ it’s still _there.”_ Barnes scrubs a hand over his face. “Just like. They wanted to make a weapon, so they took away some of the distracting stuff. I think they figured I might get distracted on a mission if I got hard, maybe the sexual arousal would’ve trigged memories, I don’t fucking know.”

“Erectile dysfunction is normal.” Scott hears Clint saying. He’s getting a weirdly cotton feeling in his fingers and under his tongue. Not disassociating or panic, but the conversation’s unexpected and off kilter. “Barnes, millions of people struggle with it everyday.”

Scott takes a sip of his drink to clear the thickness and that’s exactly the moment when Barnes snaps “Am I supposed to be _happy_ that millions of people can’t get it up?”

Which is why Scott spits coffee all over the table with a laugh.

He feels vaguely hysterical, which is why the half-apalled-half-concerned looks that everyone’s giving him don’t really register. “Sorry.” He coughs, waving a hand at the table. “Jesus, I’m so sorry—“

_“Scott.”_ Says Captain America with full disappointment and damn it, Scott’s going to have to talk about this. 

He sighs. Takes a deep breath and says, “I said the exact same thing to my ex-wife when we were talking about it for the first time.” In one go, no faltering or fumbling. 

There’s a moment, where pure, unfiltered and genuine surprise settles over Barnes’ face. “What?” He breathes, drowned out by Sam and Clint’s own baffled questioning. 

Scott swallows. Opens his mouth and finds that this next bit is a lot harder to get through. “Okay. Um. Anyone triggered by discussions of sexual trauma, specifically childhood sexual assault?”

“Pretty sure if we were that’d set it off.” Clint says, strangled. No one reprimands him, too busy staring at Scott with the same complicated expression everyone gets when the topic comes up. 

Scott shrugs. “Fair. So, uh, didn’t have a great relationship with sex at first.” He starts conversationally. He drums his fingers on the table and for once, no one threatens to cut his fingers off. “My first girlfriend had a high sex drive and of the opinion that men should always be raring to go, despite what I was actually saying to her but even before that I had an. Uh. Incredibly unprofessional babysitter.”

Steve’s pencil snaps in his grip. 

Scott winces. “Yeah. Not great. Anyways I was uh, pretty fucked by the time I got to Maggie in university. The ex-wife. Liked kissing and liked petting but I wasn’t able to physically respond to her affections. She coaxed the story out of me and was patient enough to work through it.”

He coughs, feeling uncomfortably exposed. “First time I got a proper erection with her I ended up crying and losing it almost immediately.” He admits, laughing slightly. “I thought I was just. Fucking broken as a person. I wanted to have sex, I felt arousal but my dick just wasn’t with the program.”

Barnes lets out this heavy, shuddering breath. Scott looks at him, gets this absolutely gutted expression in return. “That’s the worst part.” Barnes croaks. “They didn’t take away the desire. Doesn’t matter what I do to myself I just can’t respond it’s like—“

His voice breaks, and Scott finishes gently, “like it’s not even a part of you anymore.”

“You worked through it, you said.” Scott flinches at the urgency in Steve’s voice, the edge that’s inexplicably hardening his gaze. Steve doesn’t even seem to notice his intensity, continuing with, “How can you even— you have a kid—“

Clint narrows his eyes and Scott feels the need to say “I put the kid in Maggie, for the record.” He’s a little upset that it placates Clint. 

“But,” Steve is saying, helpless and confused. Scott is frankly, kinda worried about the vested interest Captain America has in his erectile dysfunction story.

“We didn’t have the money for therapy.” Scott starts slowly. “And honestly, I should’ve been in fucking therapy. Erectile dysfunction was just a symptom of PTSD, but we were broke college kids and the campus counsellors weren’t anywhere equipped to deal with that.”

He leans back, shifting a bit. The cotton feeling has faded, somewhat. The ground is steadier beneath his feet. “Maggie said I had to re-establish a positive relationship with sex and physicality. Lots of touching. We would go naked whenever we were in the apartment, showered together most days.” He can’t help the wry smile that creeps on his face when he says, “I got _really_ good at giving head.”

Sam snorts. “Nice.”

Scott grins back, sobering quickly. It’s weird how easily it is to talk about it now. There’s a strange level of detachment like he’s discussing another person entirely, like it’s not his body he’s dissecting. But on the other hand he remembers those times with uncomfortable clarity, trembling under Maggie’s touch and weeping into her shoulder under the shame and guilt and terror. “It’s a lot harder than just popping a viagra and jumping in.” He sighs. “Maggie’s incredible for going through it all with me.”

A gentle hand touches his arm. “I think you’re also incredible.” Wanda says, softly, and Scott’s taken back to the crushing flood of emotion he felt as he took Cassie into his arms. As he held the proof of a life that he never thought he would ever be able to have. The way she shifted and yawned and his tears had fallen onto her face and he had looked up to Maggie’s exhausted smile.

He gives Wanda a weak grin. Brings up his hand to take hers. The moment is ruined by Clint clearing his throat, awkwardly asking, “okay, but like, your dick.”

Scott sighs, looking back across the table. “My dick.” He says, patiently.

“How did you, y’know…” Clint then proceeds to make a series of increasingly obscene gestures.

“You mean how did I reestablish a positive physical response to sexual stimulation?” Scott replies. Clint shoots him finger guns. “The dick isn’t the only way men can get off, y’know.”

Clint gets a contemplative look. Sam nods approvingly, the VA counsellor side of him probably eating this shit up. Steve gets faintly pink, which is interesting, but Barnes and Wanda look at Scott with identical expressions, curious and inquisitive. “The hell does that mean.” Barnes says brusquely.

When the Avenger knocked on his door and asked Scott if he wanted to help Captain America commit treason, Scott didn’t expect to be explaining the prostate to said Captain’s best friend from the thirties. He takes a deep breath. “Okay, do any of you know what a _prostate_ is.”

“I know what a fucking prostate is!” Barnes snapped. “Jesus, I fucked a _man_ back in France, we had anal before the cold war.”

There is. A _lot_ to process there. “Okay.” Scott says gently, pushing that aside. “Even without an erection, prostate stimulation can bring someone to orgasm and cause the release of ejaculate.”

Barnes just keeps staring. Scott coughs and adds, “Maggie stuck her fingers up my ass and made me feel good, which reminded my brain that sex is good.”

“I didn’t need a translation.” Barnes says weakly, and it’s at that moment that King fucking T’Challa walks in for their weekly check-ins, and everyone does their best to move as _far_ from the previous conversation as possible.

[]

Scott promptly forgets about all of that, which comes back to bite him in the ass a few days later when he’s blindsided by the Winter Soldier and Captain America pulling him aside and propositioning him.

Scott is _very_ happy he chose to finish his meal at the table instead of bringing it back for later, because he definitely would’ve dropped it all over himself. “You want me to _what?”_ He splutters, absolutely stunned and a little bit flattered.

“I want you to teach me how to stimulate Bucky’s prostate.” Steve says, tomato red but determined. Barnes is staring very studiously out the window. Scott glances. The view is mostly obscured by a tree. 

Distantly, Scott wonders if he’s still in the Quantum Realm, vividly hallucinating and going crazy from Pym particles. “Huh.” He says faintly. 

“We’ve never done anything like this before.” Steve starts, quickly interrupted by Bucky’s very sharp elbow and much sharper glare. “Okay, Bucky’s done anal but he’s never bottomed, and he’s also out of practice—”

“I also can’t physically fuck him.” Barnes interjects crudely. “And he gets all guilty about fucking me and me not being able to finish, cause he’s a thickheaded self sacrificing _moron_ who—“

“Who wants his boyfriend to have enjoyable sex.” Steve cuts him off with a glare, turning his gaze back on Scott, looking almost helpless. “And you said that you had like. Good sex, without an erection, so, we just…” 

Watching Captain America trail off helplessly and shrug is frankly, the least bizarre thing about the situation, but it still leaves Scott reeling. He’s about to burst into hysterical laughter, about to snap and ask if this is fucking funny to them, about to ask what’s stopping Steve from sticking his own fingers up his boyfriend’s ass.

Then he remembers the moment around the kitchen table where Barnes’s voice had broken and Scott finished the sentence for him and the memory of his expression hits Scott like a fucking truck. Gutted and exhausted and grieving and thankful and _hopeful._

This isn’t sex. This is a path that Scott walked before, and Barnes and Steve are desperate for any semblance of familiarity. This isn’t about Captain America being able to fuck his boyfriend, this is just another round between HYDRA, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes. This is a reclamation, rediscovery, and relearning. And the funny thing is, Scott’s pretty sure that they don’t even fully realize this.

They’re young guys who’ve lived a century between them, barely halfway through their twenties with more war in their blood than Scott’s seen in movies. They are young men hopelessly in love, and how Scott ever thought otherwise is beyond him, and they want to be peaceful and happy with functioning sex lives and as close to normal as possible. 

Scott can’t say that meets Barnes’ eyes and sees himself. Can’t say he understands or empathizes with their pain. He won’t ever be able to. But he can safely say that without Maggie’s hands to guide him, he wouldn’t have made it to the age of twenty five. And that if he can alleviate even just an ounce of that fear, then it’s an endeavour worth taking.

He inhales slowly. “I have to talk to Hope.” He says with intent. Barnes’ eyes widen and Steve’s lips part. “I won’t go into specifics. But she’s my partner and she deserves to know what’s going on and if this is a hard limit for me.”

Steve’s opening his mouth further but it’s Barnes’ voice saying “I’d like to be there. To negotiate things.” Quiet and careful but almost imploring. Scott falters for a second but quickly steels himself and nods.

“I’ll discuss this with her first and then on the day of, if she says yes of course, we can all talk as a group.” Distantly, in a weird out of body way, he’s kind of proud of the iron in the undercurrent of his voice. He’s not the babbling sleep deprived idiot who grabbed Captain America’s boob within the same minute of meeting him. But then again, it’s not just his already pathetic scraps of dignity on the line.

Of course, as soon as Steve and Barnes leave the room he’s spiralling into a panic, fumbling the tiny Nokia flip phone as he hastily dials the emergency number. She picks up on the first ring and Scott blurts, before she can even get a breath in, “Captain America wants me to have healing sex with his boyfriend.”

_“Scott Edward Harris Lang.”_ Hope replies immediately, not missing a beat nor losing an ounce of disapproving condescension, and she is so fucking perfect that Scott dissolves into hysterical giggles on the spot, curled against the wall with his head in his hands, Hope’s yelling a comforting wave of warmth that crests over his entire body.

[]

Two days later finds them on an obscenely large bed huddled around a flip phone. Three grown ass men, just staring down at the tiny hunk of plastic from the nineties. They probably look like they’re conducting a ritual, Scott thinks, and then swallows the still somewhat hysterical giggles that threaten to break past his lips because this is seriously not the time.

“You can hear me?” Hope is saying, which is redundant because the phones have never failed them once. Scott joyfully realizes that she’s _nervous,_ for all the shit she gives him for hero worship and boy crushes. He makes a quick mental note to make fun of her for that on a less serious call.

“Loud and clear babe, we’ve got you.” Scott replies, unable to help his dopey smile, but completely unashamed of it. The others have seen him talk to Hope and have relentlessly teased him for it. Even now Barnes is rolling his eyes, although he has no right to talk what with the way he looks at Steve like he’s got the moon in his ass. And somehow, Steve is even _worse._ Scott glares back at Barnes, saying, “you’re on speaker, Cap and Barnes are listening in.”

“You’re really gonna call him Cap when you’ve got your fingers in his boyfriend’s butt?” Hope asks wryly. Steve splutters and Barnes throws his head back and outright _guffaws_ and Scott wants nothing more than to gather her in his arms and kiss the breath from her lips.

“I think he should.” Barnes is saying around his laughter. “Keep a nice professional relationship, maintain boundaries.”

“I’m gonna assume that it’s Barnes talking to me, and I’m also gonna assume he’s been spending too much time in therapy.” Hope shoots back neatly. Barnes meets Scott’s gaze with something akin to awe, and Scott tries not to look too smug. “But the boundaries thing is something I wanna get into.”

They collect themselves easily. Steve sits, worrying his lip for a moment, hesitantly saying, “Ms. Van Dyne, this is Steve Rogers. I just want to thank you for being willing to talk to us, and that we will gladly go along with whatever makes this comfortable for you.”

“Thank you Steve, and please, call me Hope.” Scott can almost see her, in a neatly pressed pant suit and her ankles delicately crossed, oner hand with the phone against her ear and the other gently stirring the sugar into her tea. Her voice smoothly slides into business, but not without losing its softness. “This is what Scott has told me; his experience with overcoming sexual trauma is something that would benefit your romantic and sexual relationship.”

There’s a beat. None of them are breathing. “And I’m okay with it.” Hope says, a little exasperated. “You _know_ I’m okay with it, that’s how we got this far.”

“Well excuse me Van Dyne,” Scott snarks back on instinct, inadvertently but fortunately drowning out the deep and shaky sighs of relief that Barnes and Steve release in tandem. “But your dramatics had us worried for a bit.”

“I don’t want a _community theatre performer—“_

“I did one show!”

“—to be telling me about dramatics.” Hope’s smile carries through her voice, clear as day. “I’m okay with you doing anything Scott. Kissing, oral, fingering, full intercourse—“

“Well she’s certainly blunt.” Steve mutters, still clearly somewhat shell shocked.

“Go crazy. I’d prefer to know if there’s going to be a repeat performance—“ she starts, and something in Barnes’ eyes go tight.

“We just need to borrow him the one time.” He interjects, clipped and curt. “No need to worry.”

Hope goes quiet. He can see her now, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed, anxiously tucking her still-too-short bang that she’s been trying to grow out behind her ear. She’s probably picking apart their conversation from a few days ago, turning the words over in her tongue but hearing them echo in her head with Scott’s own voice.

“I think,” She’s saying carefully, just as Steve begins to ask if the call dropped. “I think that I’m going to let Scott take it from here.” 

The wave of adoration hits him like a baseball bat. “I love you so much.” Scott breathes, and he closes his eyes and imagines her smile.

The strange energy is still there, even after they’ve gone over things once more and cut the call. Three grown ass men, two super soldiers from the thirties and one white suburban dad, somehow managing to crowd a bed bigger than the average walk in closet. Steve’s uncertain and Barnes is withdrawn and Scott aches for them and for the kid that he was all those years ago.

“To be completely honest,” he starts, quiet and calm, in time with the other men’s breathing. “I still don’t always get hard when Hope and I have sex.”

They look at him, eyes wide and open. “But—“ Barnes begins, so wounded that Scott feels it in his own bones.

“Maggie and I only decided to move in because we wanted to get married down the line.” Scott continues evenly, despite the urge to scramble and splutter, to fix the ache that’s so clear on Barnes’ face. “She said she wanted to marry me, and I said that I wasn’t built right for marrying. That I couldn’t give her a house or a white picket fence or a family of her own, and she looked me in the eyes and asked if I was doubting her.

“Up until that point all our sex involved was me pleasuring her. We weren’t concerned about my own arousal, I said I didn’t want to and she said that was fine. The prostate stuff, the actual work towards my own pleasure started when I told her I couldn’t give her kids.” Scott can’t help his laugh, remembering Maggie’s spitfire eyes and firmly set jaw and the pancake batter covered spatula that was making a mess of the floor. “She said that we were just going to have to set some goals and work towards them.”

“And then seven months later I fucked her for the first time and in the afterglow I pulled the ring from the nightstand and proposed, and then two months down the line we tied the knot, and then she stopped taking birth control and it took us four tries before she got pregnant, and by the time we got divorced I had fucked her a total of ten times.” Scott pauses, and then laughs. “Well, ten and a half.”

Barnes still looks shell shocked. Steve looks considering. “And with Hope?” He asks, quiet and gentle.

Scott shrugs. “I’m more interested, generally. Still prefer giving rather than receiving.” He snickers. “Ha, receiving. Sorry, just, Hope has a strap-on, which Maggie and I _never_ considered and it’s the best—“

“Scott.”

“I don’t have normal sex.” Scott hastily finishes. He was starting to ramble. “Maggie didn’t finger me until my dick worked. Some people are able to return to how they used to be, but my relationship with sex started on a _very_ bad note, and so I’ll never have that.” He takes a breath. “And sometimes Hope kisses me and I have to throw her off and run to the bathroom and throw up and sleep in a different bed.”

Steve has tears slowly slipping down his face. Barnes is trembling. Scott smiles at them, aching to his core. “If you genuinely just wanted help finding the prostate, then we can call it good after today.” He says kindly, and Steve lets out a wet and hoarse bark of laughter. “But I’ve got a pretty good feeling it’s more than that, and so whenever you need me, I’ll be there.”

Scott freezes, quickly amending, “unless I’m in the middle of totally awesome sex with my crazy hot girlfriend, in which case sorry guys but she’s a priority.”

Barnes grins, eyes bright and wet and more alive than Scott’s ever seen them. “You’re one hell of a guy, Lang.” He says roughly.

“Nah.” Scott smiles back, watching as Barnes begins rubbing the back of a now sobbing Steve Rogers. “I think this is mostly Maggie’s work that I’m stealing.”

[]

There’s more talking, and more tears, and Scott starts bitching in order to lighten the mood and eventually they start getting into the actual event. Scott doesn’t kiss either of them, because as much as he jacked off to his Captain America poster in high school, he doesn’t want to kiss Steve Rogers, or his equally attractive super soldier boyfriend. At least not this time.

“This is less of a threesome,” Scott had as Barnes begins shucking off his socks. “and more of like, couple’s counselling.”

“Jesus Christ man.” Barnes snorted, slightly red eyed but loose and easy. It’s not an atmosphere that’s going to last, Scott knew, but he’d like to keep the energy up for as long as possible. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that the playfulness didn’t abate, if anything it only accelerated the moment Steve grabbed the back of Barnes’ head and pulled him in for a kiss.

They’re giggly kissers, Scott notes with delight. Maybe it’s just the excitement of the upcoming event but there’s a dopey electricity to their eyes, sickly sweet but thrumming and buzzing. Near naked, their muscles flexing against each other as they snicker and smile into each other’s mouths, slowly and skillfully removing each other of their clothes without ever parting for more than a second.

“Are you planning on keeping the jacket?” Barnes asks lazily, mouthing at Steve’s jaw. Scott jolts when he realizes the question’s directed at him. Listen his dick may not be completely soft in his sweats but that doesn’t stop Steve and Barnes from being unbearably pretty and absolutely mesmerizing.

“Would you mind if I kept my pants on?” He says instead of verbalizing any of those incredibly embarrassing thoughts, God bless his brain to mouth filter for not letting him down like it usually does.

“Whatever makes you comfortable.” Steve replies, long blonde eyelashes fluttering with pleasure.

Scott shifts to his knees to do so and accidentally gets a _great_ view of their dicks. Steve’s is full, flushed and curved towards his belly, uncircumcised and pretty fucking big all things considered. Exactly what he expected, Grade A all American cock. He only catches a quick glimpse of Barnes’, soft and curled into his inner thigh, before Barnes puts his entire weight into Steve’s lap and pushes him backwards.

Steve yelps as he falls, Barnes looking down at him with dancing eyes. They stare each other dreamily leaning close enough for their noses to brush, and Scott feels kinda bad when he has to clear his throat, startling them apart. 

“Okay gang!” He says with all the enthusiasm of a youth pastor. Barnes kicks at him, missing, and Scott laughs. “Sorry, sorry. Do you want me to wear a glove or not?”

“No glove.” Barnes replies. He’s got this syrupy look about him, thick and sweet and sluggish, falling into the rhythm of Steve’s hands running up and down his chest and sides. He almost slurs when he continues, saying, “Wanna feel skin.”

Scott nods. “Okay, and here’s the important part.” He waits for Barnes’ gaze to sharpen, somewhat. “Stop means stop. You call it, I take my hands off and I step away. You need me to fuck off, say the word and I leave.”

Barnes pauses for a moment, hesitating just a bit, before he swallows. “Can Steve call it?” He asks, tentatively and almost apprehensive. Now Scott wasn’t expecting _this,_ at least not to this extent. Vulnerability and codependence, yes, that was a given. But this outright deference of authority, a show of willing submission— Barnes ceding control is unimaginable to Scott.

But there’s open and honest trust in his eyes, an adoring certainty a devotion as he looks up at the anxiously rambling Steve, who pushes himself up on his elbows and catches Bucky’s face in his hands. They exchange whispers, too low and gentle for Scott to hear, save for two things. Steve’s worried and uncertain, “are you sure, Buck?” And Bucky’s response, “more than anythin’ Stevie.” With a faith most men reserve for God alone.

Steve’s cornflower blue eyes are lit with a determined flame when he meets Scott’s gaze. “If you want to check in, you ask me.” He says decisively.

Scott nods. “You got it.” He grabs the lube, applies it liberally to his hand and to Barnes’ hole, unable to hold back his smirk at the soft whine Barnes makes. There’s words passing between them again, whispers between kisses and punctuated by gasps. Scott eases in his finger, slow and steady. The slide is easier than normal, most likely from the thorough cleaning Scott insisted they do beforehand. “That’s one in.” He says, directly to Steve, which seems to be the right move judging by the flash of possessiveness he receives. 

“Good.” Steve’s voice is rough. His hands are never still, comforting strokes along the edge of Barnes’ thigh, cupping his jaw and smoothing his palms across the broad expanse of his chest. He meets Scott’s eyes in segments, checking in and then darting back to Barnes’ face with laser focus and concentration. He looks less like he’s having sex and more like he’s performing surgery, save for the soft crinkles at the corners, his plush lips slightly parted with awe. He moves his hands with reverence, with devotion.

Scott clears his throat, quiet and low, but it still pulls a soft noise of protest from Barnes’ lips. Steve’s frowns, but smiles when Scott winces apologetically. “Sorry.” He adds, for good measure, trying his best to mimic Maggie’s soothing tone. “Would it be okay for me to start moving?”

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it, lips pursed. “Can,” He starts, and Scott watches with fascination as his ears slowly redden. “Can I feel?”

It’s a sickly honey sweet sort of fondness that drips into Scott’s chest, thick and gold and slow. “Anything you want.” He says, low and soothing. Steve’s smile is grateful, quickly hidden by the curve of Barnes’ jaw as he leans in for another kiss.

Scott keeps his eyes up as Steve’s hand drifts down to join his own. Takes the moment to check in on himself, give himself a mental high five for keeping his cool. He’s still soft in the confines of his pants, still completely uninterested in engaging in anything other than this. The detachment is probably helping him not completely flip his shit. This isn’t about him, this doesn’t concern him. He’s an instrument to someone else’s pleasure, and surprisingly, it’s a thought that’s grounding and stabilizing. 

“Scott.” Steve is saying, and when he jolts back into awareness he’s met with two concerned stares. Steve’s hand tenses are Scott’s arm, the weight and warmth suddenly registering with the movement. Barnes’ grey eyes are still hazy but there’s a purpose and intent to them as he searches Scott’s face. 

“Still good to finger fuck me?” Barnes asks wryly, smirk playing at his lips.

Scott’s grin is slow and wide and strains the edges of his cheek, pure unfiltered _endearment_ sinking into his bones. “Yes, Seargent Barnes, sir.”

“You’ve got your finger in my ass, just call me Bucky already La— _oh.”_ Bucky’s head drops to Steve’s shoulder, jerking in place. “Oh, fuck.”

Scott laughs, curling his finger into the swollen gland again, watching the muscles in Barnes’ back ripple underneath his scarred skin. “That’s your prostate.” He says helpfully. “Which I guess means they left that area alone.”

“Probably didn’t consider the Winter Soldier being a bottom.” Steve replies somewhat faintly, voice awestruck and amazed.

“I’m a top, god damn it.” Bucky protests. They both ignore him.

“Fuckin’ hell, his cock is so _wet.”_

“Still soft?”

“Yeah.” Bucky stiffens slightly, but then relaxes when Steve continues on to say, “But it’s twitching like crazy.”

Scott nods. “Good. I’m using inconsistent and light pressure, just getting him used to the sensation.”

“Used to it.” Bucky grunts, rolling his hips back. “Stick another in me, let’s go.”

Very purposefully, Scott ignores Bucky and looks to Steve. “Steve?” He asks simply. He doesn’t miss the way the single word makes Bucky tremble like a leaf in the wind. Steve clearly notices as well, based on the smile that crinkles his eyes, the irises dancing with a wicked sort of mirth.

“Go ahead Scott.” He replies pleasantly. Bucky grumbles something offensive and derogatory, but neither of them pay attention to him. Scott works the finger in slow and careful, reapplying lube as he goes. He repeats the motions, searching and exploring and spreading his fingers, teasing Bucky’s prostate a few times. He’s more vocal, more demanding, rolling his hips onto Scott’s fingers and kissing Steve with a fervour. Steve himself is getting more daring, teasing Bucky’s chest, biting and nipping at his chin and jaw.

“Shit, that’s good.” Bucky sighs at one point, tilting his head back and shuddering as Steve scrapes his teeth up his collarbone. “You sure your way around an ass, Lang.”

“Well that’s one way to put it.” Scott snorts. “Reconsidering your stance on being a top?”

“Might just.” Bucky flashes a grin over his shoulder, all teeth, and Scott is mesmerized by the sight. A blush blossoming across his cheeks, his nose scrunching a little with the movement, the way Bucky’s face unfurls like a flower in the sun. He’s never seen the man more alive, never seen this kind of easiness about him at all. For a stupidly emotional moment, Scott feels an overwhelming sense of honour for being able to coax this out of him.

He says absolutely _none_ of that, swallowing the emotion and instead asking Steve, “think he’s ready for another?” His voice is suspiciously tight, he has to clear the strain away.

Steve nods, and the smile he gives Scott is all too knowing, completely understanding. “Go ahead.”

As soon as he presses the tip of his ring finger inside, Bucky freezes in place. Scott stills his fingers along with it. “Good?” He asks, tentatively.

“Yup.” Bucky grits out, and the steel in his voice says everything.

“Wasn’t asking you.” Scott replies sternly. Some of the tension bleeds from Bucky’s shoulders.

“We’ll do two for today.” Steve says and his voice leaves no room for argument.

“Gotcha.” Bucky’s body sags when Scott removes the finger. Scott shifts on his knees. His wrist is getting sore. Damn it, he’s out of practice. “Do we wanna move to the fun bit?”

“Depends on what fun means.” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Orgasms.”

“Oh hell yeah.” 

“Guys.” Steve’s laughing, head pressed against Bucky’s shoulder. “Please.”

“Lighten up, Cap.” Scott teases back. “We’re having an important conversation.”

“And I think you should shut up and finger fuck my boyfriend, please and thank you.” Steve quips back, and they share matching grins when Bucky shudders and groans out a curse.

“You got it.” Scott smiles. He directs his gaze to Bucky, but keeps his words pointed towards both of them. “This part is gonna feel weird. It’s different for everyone, but for me it was like a single orgasm that lasted for twenty minutes that kept getting more intense.” Steve lets out a rough noise at that. Scott laughs. “Yeah, highly recommended even without the broken dick. If it’s too much, call it and I’ll stop. Same rules as before. If you start feeling like you’re about to piss, that’s normal, and even if you do end up pissing don’t worry about it.”

“Well _now_ I’m going to worry about it.” Bucky grumbles without heat, wiggling his hips. “Come on Thumbelina, let’s do this shit.”

“Just do it so he’ll stop talking please.” Steve laughs before Scott has the chance to ask him, Bucky snickering with him.

Scott says nothing this time, and simply watches. Watches the way Bucky jerks with the initial pressure, his eyes widening when it doesn’t abate, a full-body shudder slowly washing over him. “Fuck.” He stammers, knuckles white on Steve’s shoulders. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck, holy shit—“

“Bucky.” Steve murmurs with reverence. He’s just watching, pupils blown wide and dark. _“Bucky.”_

“It’s so m-much, he’s trying to f-fuckin’ kill m-me, Jesus—“

“It’s okay Buck, I got you—“

“I _can’t_ Stevie, I can’t fuckin’ breathe—“

“Does it feel good, are you feeling—“

“It’s so good.” Bucky gasps. His eyes have gone glassy, his words have turned thick. “Stevie it’s so fucking good, more good than I know how to deal with—“

“It’s all the good you deserve.” Steve whispers. He’s taken Bucky’s face between his palms again, the curve of his jaw nestling in place like a puzzle piece. His eyes are shining and bright and completely and utterly happy.

Bucky begins to cry.

Scott says nothing, bracing a careful hand on Bucky’s hip for more leverage and massaging his fingers with purpose. He lets his eyes trace the scars on Bucky’s back, listening to his wracking sobs. Listen to Steve’s whispered reassurances, the soft sounds of their kisses, to the way he also begins to cry. It takes a moment for Scott to realize he’s crying as well, a moment more to confirm that it’s not a flashback or any sort of distress. It’s hurt and happiness and hope, unfurling in his chest. He closes his eyes and revels in it.

Eventually, after an eternity, Bucky’s sobbing slows and Steve catches Scott’s wrist mid-movement. It takes barely a glance between them and no words at all. Scott lets his fingers slip out smoothly, and climbs off the bed as quietly as he can. He spares them one glance as he walks to the bathroom. Finds them curled into each other, a mess of sweaty limbs tangled in a heap, almost impossible to separate. He can’t see their faces, and they don’t spare him a glance. He smiles, taking the phone on his way out.

Hope picks up on the fourth ring, just as he’s drying his hands. “Are you okay?” She says instead of a greeting, because she’s perfect.

“Yeah.” Scott replies. He knows his voice is thick and tired and trembling, knows that she can hear his breath catch on every other exhale. But he’s not lying in the slightest. There’s something cracked between his rips, like a rock split to reveal a diamond. It scrapes in its rawness, and it burns with something beautiful. They exchange barely a handful of words, each one purposeful and precious. They hang up with whispered endearments, and in the silence, Scott braces his hands against the edge of the counter and lets the last of his tears slide silently down his face, over the edges of his smile and into the sink.

He’s greeted with twin smiles as he exits the bathroom, sleepy and satisfied and with puffy red eyes. Scott can’t help laughing, somewhat giddy and off kilter but still bright and loud. “You guys look like shit.” He giggles.

“Fuck off, jerk.” Bucky beams back. He doesn’t tense as Scott stumbles over, instead just nudging Steve closer to the edge of the bed so that he can take the middle, leaving enough room for Scott to climb in on his other side. Scott doesn’t cuddle him, or curl into his heat. They lie next to each other, pressed shoulder to shoulder, fingers entangled loosely.

“Comfy?” Steve asks mildly. His voice is absolutely wrecked from all the crying he’s done, which is pretty funny. He doesn’t take offence to Scott’s giggling, instead just talking over him. “I’ve got more room if you need.”

“Nah.” Scott closes his eyes, still snickering. “I’m all good where I am.”

There’s a moment of silence, where the emotional exhaustion fully catches up to him, beginning the slow and constant and inevitable pull into the land of unconsciousness. Fully taken by its siren song, Scott almost misses the quiet but sincere “thanks” whispered in the lull.

“No problem champ.” Scott mumbles, shifting onto his side, and he falls asleep to the sound of quiet disbelieving laughter, and a single squeeze around his hand.

[]

It’s not awkward the next morning, much to Scott’s relief. He wakes alone, but that’s more because Steve and Bucky get up with the sunrise while Scott’s a lazy bastard. When he stumbles to the dining room. Everyone has gathered in quiet but comfortable silence. Clint’s helping Wanda write her letter back to Cassie. Sam sits next to her, reading a thick and well-worn book, still chiming in with suggestions of his own every so often.

Steve’s in his usual spot, sketching away with focus, but as Scott passes he looks up and smiles. He hands Scott this week’s pile of letters. When Scott reaches Bucky, sat cross-legged on the counter, he gets a nod and a hot cup of coffee, made just the way he likes it. Scott smiles at them both, sitting down in the morning rays of sun, settling into place and soaking in the warmth.

“Hey Clint,” Bucky says eventually, just as Scott takes a long sip of coffee. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s just you and your right hand now.”

It takes a long, slow moment for the words to register, but when they do, Steve’s head is in his hands, Scott’s choking on his coffee, Wanda and Sam are collapsed onto each other with laughter, and Clint’s face turns a vibrant shade of red.

“Jesus, Buck.” Steve’s laughing. Clint turns to him, and a betrayed realization crosses his face.

“Just me.” He says dully. He turns to look at Scott. “And you—“

Scott coughs into his fist. “Uh, kinda?” He replies hesitantly, because yeah he didn’t really ‘have sex’ per se, but he did, y’know, stick his finger in a butt. Which is sex adjacent at _least._ Bucky and Steve don’t say otherwise, at least, which leaves Scott to wince and finish with a weak and half-hearted, “sorry dude.”

“Cool. Awesome.” Clint runs his hand through his hair with a wild look in his eyes. “Absolutely spectacular that I’m rubbing my dick raw while everyone else gets an all expenses paid trip to fucking Pound Town!” He shouts with genuine anguish, at the exact same moment that King T’Challa walks into the room. And in the still moment where everyone just sits and stares at each other like they’re deer in the headlights, Bucky tips his head forwards and laughs his fucking ass off.

(The morning after that, Clint walks in and proudly announces that he fucked the King of Wakanda, so in the end it all works out for everyone.)

**Author's Note:**

> GENERAL FIC SYNOPSIS:  
> The basic idea is that HYDRA chemically castrated Bucky and leaving him with permanent erectile dysfunction, but he is still capable of feeling arousal and he has desires for sex. Scott is a CSA and abuse survivor who has psychological erectile dysfunction, and has a complicated relationship with arousal and sexual desire. After Scott mentions that he and his wife reestablished a positive relationship with sexual stimulation through prostate play, Stucky ask Scott to guide them through the 'treatment' AKA they ask Scott to fingerfuck Bucky. Scott gets consent from Hope and agrees and then essentially stimulates Bucky physically while he and Steve connect emotionally. Bucky's state of vulnerability causes him to slip into a subspace like state. He also cries a lot, and Steve does too.
> 
> ......
> 
> My first Marvel fic! And boy, what an opener.
> 
> I cannot explain where the idea for this came from. Sex and smut is such a complicated and nuanced thing which can be used to explore so many avenues of personality, interactions, recovery and growth. Sexual reclamation as a concept is something I've wanted to explore but I always felt as though I am not knowledgeable enough to write a story of a sexual assault survivor's journey reclaiming sex. I delved into it a little here, but in the past tense, with Scott's experiences. I also tried to include the idea of rededication in the title!
> 
> The dynamics of Ant-Man are really fun to think about. Scott has such a healthy relationship with his ex-wife and her husband, and even in the first movie where there's tension derived from their strained relationships there is a sense of trust and affection between the three adults. Scott's such an outlier in the MCU and the Avengers line up, and he's my fav. That's the origin of this fic I guess, as bizarre as it is.
> 
> I hope I portrayed Bucky and Steve relationship in a realistic way. I don't care much about OOC, and more about whether or not I did a disservice to the struggles they're facing here. Please let me know if I fucked up in any way.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I don't know how else to talk about this because it is a very weird thing I've found myself with, and so I just have to leave you with this! I hope you enjoyed it!!
> 
> [my twitter ](https://twitter.com/KAMONORITOSHI)


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